Defining Paradise
by Allonsy752
Summary: Logan has been removed from power, the Crawler has been defeated, but what price has Albion paid? The new King has proven to be far more corrupt than Logan ever was, and worse still Reaver remains in control of much of Bowerstone. Page and Ben think they have found the key to ending his reign, but the past doesn't stay buried forever - even for Reaver.
1. Prologue - Hope

*disclaimer – as is required for me to mention, this is a fan based work, I do not own nor did I create the Fable series or any characters associated with it.*

_Author's notes – This story takes place just after the events of Fable III it does not take into account any other games after the fact (or even any DLC) nor does it follow any of the Fable novels. It takes place in a version of the universe in which the new King of Albion broke his promises to the people rather than the canon sunshine an lollipops version. (side note, I hate happy endings) Also, there is a good deal of build up before we get to the bits with Reaver actually in the story, so all you fan girls and boys will just have to be patient. This is as much a storyline continuation piece as it is an origins story, so we are going to jump around a bit. Otherwise, enjoy and please R&R._

Defining Paradise

Prologue – Hope

Beneath the charming cobblestone roads of Bowerstone, deep within the stale wet of the sewers,Page sat in silence; frustration and anger brewing within her. Albion was growing darker by the minute and all her efforts, all the efforts of her men had yielded no results. The King of Albion had broken every promise he had made on his way to the throne, including the one that involved ending Reaver's reign over Bowerstone Industrial. The kingdom may have been saved from the grips of the Crawler but darkness still lingered in it's streets.

Entire families went to bed hungry while the rich and powerful stuffed themselves with meat and wine, children toiled away in factories while the King collected his taxes, and good people were dragged from their homes and shot in the streets by unchecked gangs of bandits and mercenaries. The people of Albion were suffering and Reaver's pockets were being lined with their blood.

"Page?" a voice called out. "I'm back."

Page turned to find Ben Finn standing behind her, she frowned as she looked him over. He was soaking wet and coated in a dense layer of mud. He had the look of a man who had been utterly defeated in vicious combat.

"Ben." Page moved toward him, her voice anxious. "How did it go? Did you find anything out?"

"Well..." Ben started, hesitant. "I didn't exactly find what we were looking for." His face was apologetic. Page sighed; perhaps it had been too much to hope for. A weapon capable of stopping Reaver? She knew it was too good to be true.

"So what did you find?"

"Well, it's not so much a _what_ as it is a _who_." Ben walked to a near by table and sat down, motioning for Page to join him. "You see, as it turns out the legendary 'Siren' weapon isn't really a weapon," he laughed nervously, "and it really wasn't in Samarkand."

"So what you're telling me is that the thing we have been hanging all our hopes on not only isn't where we thought, but doesn't even exist and we are no closer to putting a stop to Reaver than we were six months ago?" Page slammed her fist on the table and Ben smiled. She was always so quick to anger, so impatient.

"Oh it exists, or should I say she exists." Ben corrected.

"Fine." Page took a deep breath. "Who is she and how do we find her?"

"I'm a bit fuzzy on the details, as most of the documents about her are in pretty bad shape due to their age, but.." Ben pulled out a torn and tattered leather bound book. It looked as though it had suffered a great deal of water damage and the pages seemed too delicate to touch. He opened it up to a dog-eared page, pieces of paper crumbling off as he did so.

"Where did you get that thing?" Page asked, worried for the stability of the book's structure. "A crypt?"

Ben chuckled. "Something like that." He leaned in close to Page, his voice low. "Now listed to this, most of the words are too worn away and a lot of pages are missing, but what I can read is – well..." he cleared his throat and began to read a passage, " '...it is true he is a great pirate king, feared by many, but no matter is power and skill, the Reaver's bane forever lies within the voice of the Siren.' "

Page scoffed. "Well we already knew that much."

"Yes, " Ben protested, "but from the other entries I have been able to determine that the 'Siren' was a woman, a Hero. She lived in Oakvale before it was destroyed."

"Oakvale?" Page was puzzled, Oakvale was destroyed hundreds of years ago. "You mean that town that used to be where Wraithmarsh is now? Isn't there a rumor that Reaver is the one responsible for it's destruction?"

"Indeed there is." Ben smiled.

"Okay, I'm listening. How do we find this woman?"

"Well.." Ben laughed nervously "finding her won't really be the problem." Page glared at him, she was getting annoyed. Was there or wasn't there a way to stop Reaver?

"Ben, I don't have time for this, get to the point." She crossed her arms and tapped her foot impatiently.

"Alright, alright. Calm down. Our 'Siren' is IN Oakvale, that is Wraithmarsh."

"What? But that is impossible. There's nothing ALIVE in Wraithmarsh."

"Yes... I know..." Ben said sheepishly.

Page groaned. Great, how was a dead girl going to help them?

"Don't worry, Page, I've got it all worked out." Ben reached into his satchel and pulled out a small medallion baring the ancient seal of the Hero's Guild. "Here." He handed it to Page. It was vibrating slightly and seemed to produce a faint humming sound.

"What is it?" She asked, mesmerized by the seal.

"Hope, Page," Ben smiled. "it's hope."


	2. Chapter 1 - The Siren's Grave

*disclaimer – as is required for me to mention, this is a fan based work, I do not own nor did I create the Fable series or any characters associated with it.*

_Author's notes – This story takes place just after the events of Fable III it does not take into account any other games after the fact (or even any DLC) nor does it follow any of the Fable novels. It takes place in a version of the universe in which the new King of Albion broke his promises to the people rather than the canon sunshine an lollipops version. (side note, I hate happy endings) Also, there is a good deal of build up before we get to the bits with Reaver actually in the story, so all you fan girls and boys will just have to be patient. This is as much a storyline continuation piece as it is an origins story, so we are going to jump around a bit. Otherwise, enjoy and please R&R._

Defining Paradise

Chapter 1: The Siren's Grave

The rain almost seemed to fall harder in Wraithmarsh, or so Page thought as she made her way through the thick swamps. This journey had been difficult enough with the banshees, balvarines and hobbs, she didn't really need to add inclement weather to the list. She took a moment to stop under the ruins of what appeared to have been a bridge and checked her map.

"Well, according to this...I am just at the edge of town" Page looked up at the ruins surrounding her. Thick fog and foul smelling waters enveloped everything, and the decayed husks of what were once quaint small town homes reached up from the mists. Is this what Reaver does to the places he visits? Drain them of all soul and life and leave only an empty carcass behind? Would this be the fate of Bowerstone? Of all of Albion?

A sharp screech, interrupted Page's thoughts. Through the wreckage, an unusually large banshee began to approach, dancing in and out of the crumbled remains. "Not on my watch." Page gripped the pistol at her side and stepped forward with determination.

Until this moment, she had been avoiding the monsters that haunted this area. She know, however, she could hide no longer. Hero or no, if she could not face a single banshee, what hope did she have against Reaver? She drew her weapon and the banshee released a terrible shriek that shook the buildings around it. Page lost her footing in the tremor, and fell to her knees.

"Why bother getting up?" the banshee hissed in a voice that would give even the bravest of men nightmares. "You know you can not win. You are no Hero."

Page narrowed her eyes, that was not going to work, she had come too far and lost too much to give up now. She brought herself to her feet and raised her pistol again. "You won't discourage me, monster." Page fired her gun, the sound echoing through the hollow wreckage of Oakvale.

"Is that all?" The banshee cackled as the bullet narrowly missed its head. "You aren't even half the marksman he is." It slithered in the air. "He will destroy you and swallow Bowerstone, just as he did this place." Page clenched her fists and gritted her teeth and she prepared to fire another shot. "What about Ben?" The banshee continued, "What have you done to him? You lead his men to their deaths. His friend, Swift, was murdered before his eyes, and what vengeance was he granted?" The banshee moved closer, it's voice growing stronger. "The king you followed, that you entrusted your men with, betrayed you. Where are you men now, how many have died because of the poor choices you have made? How many more must suffer for your selfish ideals?" The banshee screamed again and Page flew off her feet and landed hard on her stomach. She picked up her head, pain shooting though her body as she did so. As she tried to pull herself from the muck, she saw the figures of men rising from the black depths of the swamp, trudging towards her. He eyes widened with terror as she looked up on their faces. They were the half rotted corpses of her fallen comrades.

"Page..." one called out, his voice shallow and horse, "...why? Why did you let us die?"

"Why?" Called another, in the same ghastly tone.

"Why, Page? Why?" Their voices became many, each calling out to her, begging for answers as the horde surrounded her.

"Let go." whispered the banshee, who was now right beside Page, "Just let go, Page. You can not hope to win. This is no longer your fight." The power of the voice was overwhelming, as if the banshee's thoughts were melding with Page's. Despair and hopelessness began to surge their way through her body, and Page could not think – could not move – even as the banshee's long and slender fingers began to wrap themselves around her neck. The world began to fade into the darkness as she gave into the pain and anguish consuming her. It was so easy to give in, so simple to just let go. The pain and suffering was so powerful that she wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and just let the release of death take her. As she started to loose herself in the darkness, Page heard a gentle humming coming from somewhere very close. It was sweet and comforting and, for some reason, it seemed familiar. Was it something she had heard before? Page struggled to recall the memory. She was sure it was important but the emotions infecting her mind made it hard to concentrate, made the pain so much worse. It would be easier to just...

"The seal!" Page's eyes flew open and she woke from her trance. The banshee recoiled as if pushed back by an unseen force. Page sat up and the sharp sting of broken ribs made her sick. She looked down at her satchel, a bright blue light emanating from within. She reached inside and pulled out the seal; it was humming more fiercely than when Ben had first shown it to her. The banshee hissed and retracted at the sight of it. As the creature moved away, the seal's light dimmed slightly. Page starred at the medallion in awe. Why would the seal react in such a way? "Is this monster the Siren?" she wondered out loud.

Page gripped the medallion tightly and pulled herself to her feet. The banshee teleported down the road, placing the undead swarm between them. Page faced the undead masses and found that they no longer appeared to be her fallen men, but were little more than the shambling husks of hollow men. She took a deep breath and calmly raised her pistol. She marched towards her target, firing at anything in her path. With each shot, a hollow man fell to his knees and the banshee cried out in a vain attempt to dissuade it's pursuer. Page ignored each call of the monster's voice, each howl only quickening her pace. Her throat was throbbing from the wounds inflicted by the banshee's grip, but every serge of pain fueled her anger and drove her closer to the beast.

In a last desperate attempt, the banshee reared it's head and screamed with all it's power and furry, charging towards it's enemy. Page stopped her advance and braced herself. She raised the medallion, holding it out at arms length. The banshee shrieked as it attempted to change it's course, but it's mad rage had flung it down a path it could not veer from. The medallion was driven deep into the creature's core and the brilliant blue light poured out from within. The screams of the monster were deafening, and Page doubled over from the shock. The light went out, the humming stopped and the banshee flew backward, as if being pulled from behind, toward the center of the town. Page scrambled to her feet and chased after it. The banshee grasped helplessly at anything in it's path, but it could not prevent it's movement.

At the crossroads, stood a large knotted tree with a single worn headstone at it's base. The banshee was pulled down and into the grave. All went silent. Page stood before the headstone, unsure what to do next. She approached cautiously, and knelt beside it. The site was overgrown with thick vines and roots; Page began to carefully remove them. The headstone was badly damaged and faded, but she could still make out a singe word: "Siren."

"Alright, I found you. Now -" Before she could finish her thought, a pale and dirty hand burst from the grave. Page jumped backward and instinctively drew her pistol. She aimed at the newly emerged extremity and cocked her weapon, ready to fire a round into whatever horror crawled out. The arm clawed at the ground, and was soon joined by a second. Page prepared her self as a bulge formed under the soft wet soil. Dirt and mud flew through the air as a figure emerged from the ground.

It was a woman. Her skin was the pale white of a fresh corpse, her long dark hair matted and wet, but her eyes were a vibrant blue; so bright that they almost seemed to glow against the pasty flesh of her face. The woman spit out a sizable amount of dirt and took in a deep and agonizing breath. As she did, the color began to return to her body; her cheeks regaining the rosey tint of life. Page lowered her gun and reached out a hand, which the woman readily took, her touch surprisingly warm.

"Are you alright?" Page asked, after giving the poor thing a few moments to compose herself.

"I...I think so." The woman stood up straight and surveyed her surroundings. "Where are we?"

"Wraithmarsh." Page answered, but the woman only looked confused. "Oakvale," she corrected, "or at least it used to be..." The woman's eyes widened, shock and disbelief on her face.

"What do you mean? How – how can this -" she stopped, the memory of what had happened slowly returning to her. "Oh yes, I remember..." her expression turned solemn.

"You remember what happened here? How Oakvale was destroyed?"

"Yes," the woman sighed, "The shadows. It was like the marshes of Darkwood rose against us. We fought as long as we could, but the people here were little more than farmers and fishermen, and there were so many..." the woman's eyes went cold as she recalled the horrors of the past.

"I'm sorry..." Page didn't know what else to say. How do you console someone who wakes up to this?

"Is there anyone else here? Did you see a man near by, with dark hair?" The woman asked quickly.

"What? No, no one comes to Wraith- to Oakvale anymore. Not since it's destruction over two hundred and fifty years ago."

"What?!" The woman shook her head, "That can't be. Two hundred an fifty – it isn't possible..." The woman turned quickly and began running for the bridge. "Lindsey!'' She called desperately, "Lindsey! I'm here, I'm alright! Please!." Page ran after her, frustrated. She knew this was difficult for the woman, but she really needed some answers.

She found the woman standing on the bridge, or what was left of it, overlooking the town. Fresh tears were on her cheeks.

"He's dead." The woman said, not turning to face Page. "Even if he wasn't killed by the shadows...after two hundred and fifty years..." Page put a hand on the woman's shoulder.

"I am sorry."

The woman faced page, wiping all evidence that she had been crying from her face first.

"I was dead?" She asked, unsure of all the details.

"You don't remember?"

"The last thing I remember," the woman sighed, "was lying in the arms of my fiance and my blood pooling on the ground at his feet."

Page frowned, "Yes, you were dead." She didn't really want explain that up until a few moments ago, she had been a rampaging banshee hell bent on dragging Page into the darkness with her.

"So you brought me back? How?"

"With this." Page held out the medallion, it's light returning as it dangled before the woman. "You see, I need your help. Albion needs your help."

"My help?" The woman chuckled. "What help could a two hundred and fifty year old corpse possibly be?"

"I need help killing a man, but not just any man. The man responsible for this." Page motioned to the surrounding ruins. The woman's eyes narrowed.

"You know who did this? He is still alive?"

"Yes," Page nodded, "he calls himself Reaver, and he is a monster."

There was a fire in the woman's eyes as she thought of all her friends, of all the innocent lives lost to the shadows. She took a deep breath to clam herself.

"Not that I am not happy for the opportunity to reign justice upon the one responsible for the destruction of my home, but of all the people who died that day, why me?"

"We found a sort of prophecy," Page sighed, "well really more like a collection of notes, that suggested you were the only one who can stop him." she looked the woman in the eyes, "Are you her, the Hero called Siren?"

Much to Page's surprise, the woman burst into laughter. Page folded her arms, unable to find any humor in the current situation.

"Yes," the woman tried to contain her amusement, "I suppose I am." she sighed "Hundreds of years and that horrible nick name still haunts me." She stuck out a had to Page. "My name is Sarah Blackwood; sword smith and owner of the Siren Tavern." Page nervously took her hand.

"My name is Page." she cocked her head in confusion. "So you're just a tavern owner? Aren't you a Hero? The guild seal, it reacted to you."

"Hero? Well, I don't know...could be." Sarah shrugged. "I was pretty damned handy with a sword, and I never met a man I couldn't best in a fist fight."

Page cocked an eyebrow. Fist fight? The woman before her was no more than five and a half feet at the tallest, probably weighed little over one hundred and twenty pounds, and she took on full grown men in hand-to-hand combat? She definitely had to be a Hero.

"Well," Page smirked, "let's hope Reaver is no exception." A loud growl interrupted their conversation. It had come from Sarah's stomach.

"Um," Sarah laughed, sheepishly, "you don't happen to have anything to eat with you, do you? It has been two and a half centuries since my last meal after all." Page groaned, this really wasn't the best place for a picnic

"I might have an apple or two you could eat while we walk. I don't want to spend any more time in Wraithmarsh than I already have." She reached into her satchel and pulled out a bright green apple and tossed it to Sarah.

"Thanks," Sarah said between mouthfulls."

"Let's get going. The sooner we get back home, the soon we and be rid of Reaver." Page turned and started walking in the direction of Bowerstone. Sarah took one last look at the remains of her town, a fire building in her heart.

"I will stop him, " she promised herself, "whoever he is. He will pay."


End file.
